Last Saturday started off overcast, though the clouds were light grey and white, which usually are not hugely threatening. So I headed off to fill in the relatively short gap I had between walks, so that I could say I have finished the whole distance from Ely to Tentsmuir – East Neuk done! I hoped that the cloud would lighten, though as I rode the bus to Boarhills to pick up where I left off last week, the colours shifted to a bit darker…oh well.
A bit of rain was all I expected to see, and that wouldn’t hurt me – I was feeling determined. We had quite a dramatic week of weather, I should mention, with lots of big grey clouds and thunderstorms, so I hoped that the day would be a bit more settled even if not sunny. I tested fate a bit by bringing my sunglasses and not wearing my raincoat.
I alighted from the good old 95 bus at the Boarhills stop which is incredibly awkwardly placed, at the end of the entrance road to the village. My views were some lazy cows (not a good sign for weather) and the village filling in the gaps between wide green fields.
From the bus stop, it is a short downhill stroll into the village, and I turned right up the farm access road towards where I had broken off my walk last Saturday.
It took me just under ten minutes to make my way back to where the Coastal Path splits from the farm road, though it is almost identical in appearance – a wide farm track with two ruts, accessible by vehicle as well as foot. This path took me across a field with views across the water towards the distant hills behind Dundee. It was a good day for a walk, with a gentle breeze and comfortable temperatures of about 13℃/55℉, and while overcast the air was clear.
After about 5 minutes on this track there is a short section on the road, and then a quick turn off again to the right, behind the doocot above. This is essentially a detour around some large farm buildings, then the path strikes out again across the fields. A sunnier day may have required more pictures, but overcast skies without dramatic clouds just don’t do much for me, and the wind had picked up, so I moved along a bit faster until I reached another signpost. This directed walkers off to the right, towards the coast, along a grassy trail.
There was a short spot of rain as I crossed this section of field, but oddly I only noticed it from the sound of the drops hitting the grass – it was so light I did not feel it on my face, hair or clothing. It made the faintest dots on my coat before stopping again.
Ahead along the coast is a cluster of bushes, and an obvious left turn towards St Andrews – through a gate and down a hill, the path descends almost to beach level. Here is the first of many views looking north, this one at least assuring me that the tide was low enough not to be an issue. Yes, I had again forgotten to check the times.
At beach level, you can see ahead towards Buddo Rock, with cliffs on the horizon that are very familiar to anyone who has walked near and around St Andrews. The sun was trying very hard to fight its way through the clouds, but it was not quite strong enough to win.
The path had narrowed here considerably, so that I was walking through almost waist-deep grass and plants, positively soaking my jeans and boots. This part of the route is clearly not well-used and so I gather is not as well maintained. Hiding in the more harmless plants were plenty of prickly thistles, nettles and other less pleasant flora – I should have gone down to the beach and stayed there instead. I was beginning to wonder if I had in fact taken a wrong turn – the path was barely present enough to be followed – when from within the brush emerged a familiar Coastal Path post. I was not lost, but I was even wetter from knees down than if it had been pouring rain.
Eventually after what felt like miles of bivouacking (was only about ten minutes really), I reached Buddo Rock, which was really quite cool. The cliffs nearby show evidence of once having been connected, and the rock itself is a fascinating piece of geology, the sandstone surface folded and swirling like cloth or liquid.
I spent a few minutes wandering around the outside, getting pictures from all angles, and then backed away a little to a small stretch of rock and sand nearby. This would be an amazing spot on a day with more sun.
The cliff line is really interesting along here, with chunk of stone sticking out from the grass, and a couple indentations that could be the start of caves. It is easy to understand how there are several sets of caves along this coastline.
But, I could not stay here and be fascinated by the rock forever, and so I headed on, over a gate and into a more cared-for portion of the path.
Once past the gate, the trail begins to climb gently, with the cliffs on one side and a stone wall on the other. I knew that at some point I would need to climb back to golf course level, and I suspected at the time that it might be a more gentle climb. I was quite wrong.
In very little time, that supposition that the climb would be easy was dashed by a series of steady ups and downs, some of them with stone steps and others just rough-cut stairs.
This portion of the route was worth it, though, for several reasons. Firstly, the flowers, which vary between wildflowers, sea roses, foxglove or any number of other blossoms – lovely pinks, yellows, purples, and whites.
Secondly, for the view along the coast which was a completely new one I had never appreciated before – this far around the coast, I was looking almost straight down St Andrews pier, which was visible with a zoom lens.
The cliffs are also really fun to watch and see what new thing will emerge – there is a World War II bunker just visible for example, as well as countless hidden spots. This would be a phenomenal spot to come back to on a sunny day.
Moving on, there is a section of path made out of stepping stones to take you over a muddy patch. I could not stop marvelling at how amazing the view of St Andrews was from here, and I had to stop myself from re-taking the same picture over and over. The one above with rocks directly in the view was my final effort.
There is quite a lot of moving up and down the edge of the beach and cliff at this point, and many of the ‘steps’ are not in the best state. While the views are excellent, the almost continuous rise and fall makes this a more strenuous portion of the path, though at least my legs were starting to get warmer as they dried out. I was being followed at this point by a group of walkers less than five minutes behind me, which stressed me out slightly; I considered stopping to let them pass, but decided instead to push on. The weather was becoming a bit more threatening, and I had plenty to do once I had finished my walk.
As mentioned, the stairs here have in some places seen better days, and there were some significant drops particularly for those with shorter legs like mine. But, as long as you take it easy and pay attention to where you are putting your feet, it is certainly manageable.
In time, the path levelled out at beach level, with a large rock ahead. Another post directs walkers towards a flight of stairs and I realised that my earlier supposition was completely wrong: I would in fact have to climb from beach level to the golf course in one long winding go. I won’t lie – particularly with the other walkers behind me, this one was a push.
The steps vary from wooden slats to stone chunks, then closer to the top merge into just a hill. Then, just as you are starting to doubt your sanity on how far you have climbed, the sound of golf balls being whacked drifts into your ears, and the shape of the clubhouse appears on the horizon.
The path meets the green and follows it around to the access road, only steps from the spot where I had started my walk several months ago. I had made the foolish decision to remove my jacket at the beach level, but up on the course the wind was much stronger, and I found I had to pull the extra layer out of my pack again. It was also starting to spit with rain, and I still had a way to go, trudging up towards the road; my main priority was not being hit with an errant golf ball.
Overall, while this was a shorter walk than the previous week – 2 miles on the path and about 4 overall – it was arguably harder to do with a lot more climbing and descending, and of course the monumental climb at the end. The good news is that I definitely stretched out all of my back muscles that were bothering me.
Also, it didn’t really start to rain until the end.
One unpleasant after-effect though was that when I got home and was enjoying removing my boots, I discovered two ticks on my hand – one had bitten, one was still crawling around. The other half swiftly removed the one that had bitten with tweezers, and I squished the other – I do not think it had actually been there long. Compared to a US tick, it was quite small, but still necessitated a few shudders and an immediate shower. Apparently the weather in Scotland this spring has been perfect for ticks, so if you are out, be careful!
Speaking of weather, we are all being told that there is a Super El Niño coming. What exactly this will mean for Scotland is uncertain – more wet or more dry, either way I intend to continue on my walks. Now that the East Neuk is done, it’s time to focus on the south coast again. More in July when I am back!
Finally at it again! Saturday was supposed to be cloudy in the morning with rain coming in the afternoon, but I was determined to get a few more miles under my belt. I was not feeling hugely confident about my stamina, so found a mid-length section that I could do relatively close to home, though it is one of the last that will be so easy to reach: Cambo Estate to Boarhills. One exciting note about this walk, is that in completing I have officially passed the halfway mark on my journey.🎉 Still a long way to go.
Saturday morning started off breezy but mild (16℃/60℉) with an almost cloudless blue sky and bright sun. I had even remembered to check the tide, which was scheduled to be low at about 7.30am, so perfect for me. The actual Coastal Path section of this walk would be 4 miles, but I knew I had about a mile on each end to get to a road, so I spent the short bus journey reminding myself that I did 6 miles easily in Washington, so this should be fine.
The bus trip was pleasant, warm in the sun and the flowers at this time of year are stunning – peony roses, iris, poppies, rhododendron and so many more bursts of colour particularly as we rode through Kingsbarns.
I alighted bus just outside the gate to the Cambo Estate and enjoyed a pleasant walk along the access road through a wooded landscape full of chirping birds. A few purple rhododendron were hiding in amongst the trees, like on so many old Scottish estates. After about ten minutes I reached the cluster of buildings where there is a shop, café and access to the walled garden, though it was not due to open for another hour. I was a bit uncertain how to get past the buildings, but managed to skirt my way around and headed down through the grounds towards the coast.
I couldn’t resist capturing a few garden views on the way…
The spot where I had stopped my walk counter last year was the bridge over the creek, and so I picked up the path here, almost exactly 1 mile from where I had left the bus. The path emerges from the trees – quite welcome due to the prevalence of bugs hovering amongst the foliage – and onto the golf course. I was very happy to discover that the public toilets designed for walkers and golfers were open, so stopped for a moment before properly setting off.
I have done this section of the path several times with friends and it is a really nice walk, parking at Kingsbarns Beach and walking up to the estate and back. It runs along the edge of Kingsbarns Golf Links, offering great views up over the course to the clubhouse. Needless to say, views of the beach are also extraordinary.
The course was already busy at just before 9am on a Saturday, though the beach was quiet. In fact, one could probably walk on the sand at this point in the hike, if you wished. But, I had a feeling there would be required beach walking further up so I stuck to the trail, which is a wide sandy track, gently rolling as it hugs the line between beach and golf course. I did make the decision not to take too many pictures and instead to focus on getting some ground behind me, so powered on for the just over half a mile to the beach car park. As I have observed previously, walking the Fife Coastal Path is probably the best way to see a large number of golf courses without actually picking up a club!
This car park is often busy and you have to reach it early to get a spot, though it is also available for overnight stays with a good number of camper vans parked along one side. It is a popular local spot with a burger van, sauna, picnic tables, public toilets and a drinking water fountain. While he signs are not really clear, the Coastal Path instinct will take you through the car park and around the burger van.
Just beyond the picnic area is a nice spot to detour down to the beach, where there are some interesting rock formations and nice views – the beach here is quite sandy, between larger stretches of rock on either end of the cove.
The path narrows a bit here but is still easy to follow. It was also very quiet; normally I pass numerous dog walkers, hikers and runners but really only came across 3 or so groups; from the edge of Kingsbarns to Boarhills only 2 people total – not sure why, but I didn’t begrudge the quiet.
For about half a mile beyond the beach, the path follows the edge of the golf course, occasionally even crossing the green so that there are signs asking both golfers and walkers to be courteous of one another.
This stretch is very pleasant, mostly flat and not particularly strenuous. The breeze was gentle, and the view familiar but no less beautiful, with green on one side and the beach on the other.
At the edge of the golf course there is a sign warning walkers about the distance to St Andrews, as well as the treacherous nature of the trail in places. Almost immediately the path narrows considerably to the point where groups would need to walk single file, but it is still mostly flat. In little time, there is a large post directing walkers down to the beach until there is another sign (which I never actually saw, though I did work out when the path re-started).
I think you could probably just manage on the beach even at high tide, and while it is alternately sandy, I was able to find a shelf of rock to walk along for a while, and prevent my boots sinking into the soft sand. Ahead on the horizon was a house that I was using as a marker for when I should think about looking for the second sign, to return to the grass. When not sandy, the beach becomes treacherously rocky with those medium-sized rocks that are perfect for turning your ankle if you are not careful.
While you cannot necessarily see the cows from the beach, their scent leaves no doubt that they are just out of sight in the fields above. The runoff from one of the fields created this fascinating mini river delta on the beach, though it smelled awful. The hungry hiker in me also was sure I saw some dark fudge brownies in a pile of rocks…wishful thinking!
In time, the coastline juts outward – where the building is – and at that point you can look back all the way to Crail. Somehow distances on this coast never look as far as they are, and I remember that walk well as one of the best sections of the path.
Just when I was starting to get tired of plodding though sand, a slab of rock firmed up beneath my feet and lo and behold, the path re-appeared up ahead. It is still narrow here and a bit less even, edged with grass and wildflowers. I stopped for a moment to capture these gorgeous red poppies that stood out dramatically against the background.
A jumble of logs marks Babbet Ness, a headland that comprises another sort of ‘corner’, where the coastline turns at an almost right angle due west for a short distance inland, until it meets Boarhills. There are two small trees – really more shrubs – that demonstrate just how strong the wind here can be, and very little other vegetation beyond grass and low brush. Beyond is yet another gorgeous stretch of Fife coastline, the long shelves of rock broken up by small sandy coves, distant trees and grassy fields that stretch from the coast up toward the main road, just over the knoll. Ahead, in the far distance, I could just make out the lump that is Balmullo Law.
For a short time, the path runs very close to a new barbed wire fence that looks lethal, so be careful if you are busy looking at the view. The path is also quite uneven here, narrow with plenty of places for a foot to slip or turn if you are not paying attention to your feet. Sprays of small yellow and purple flowers break up the grass, and the sky was still blue though the large stretches of clouds were rolling in from the west. Fortunately, while they blocked the sun a bit, they did not seem threatening.
Beyond Babbet Ness, I could see the distant unmistakable shape of an abandoned building, a croft or house of some kind. This turned out to be at a spot known as Johnnie Bay, a sandy inlet with what must have been a boat ramp leading from the ruined building down to the water. It’s a charming spot, though there are strict signs on both sides to keep out of the structure as it is not safe.
By this point in the walk – as you can doubtless see in the pictures – the sun was behind a cloud more often than not, and I was able to take off my sunglasses, which I prefer. Not far beyond the house I could see a sign and a stone wall, from which I was distracted temporarily by what I was relatively certain was a gunshot – a rifle of some kind. It could have been something else, as rifle shots are not common, but it stayed in my mind as I approached the signpost.
This spot allows you to make a choice, directing you up a farm track to the main road only .5 miles away, or to Boarhills, 1.5 miles away. I knew from looking at the map that the spot where the farm track emerged was a tricky one: on a blind corner, and potentially nowhere for the other half to pick me up. Fortunately, a happy cocker spaniel trotted towards me from the other direction, and so I paused to give it a good ear rub before pushing on towards Boarhills. The path here follows the edge of an estate wall, and is a wider track that is easy to follow.
In a short distance of only a few minutes’ walking, the path begins to turn inland, where Kenly Water flows out of the farmland to meet the sea. Ahead is the edge of the tree line which surrounds the burn, and there is a hint of roofs and fences indicating homes. The walk through the trees is very pleasant, a lush green tunnel with ivy-covered trunks and the water trickling along beside.
Soon, the trail splits with a farm track to the left and the coastal path marker directing walkers down a smaller trail to the right, descending again into the den. It reminded me very much of Dunino Den, though this makes sense as they are only miles apart; in Scotland, a den is a narrow valley or ravine, usually wooded, with a river or burn running through. They tend to be extremely beautiful and peaceful, and this one was no different. The path winds closer to and then away from the water, sometimes a bit higher on the bank and sometimes lower down, and on Saturday morning was serene, the only noises being the ducks, the birds, the water rushing, and my footsteps.
The burn – Kenly Water – varies between tumbling over rocks and pieces of log and pooling in deeper areas where it slows for a time and allows for reflection. And ducks.
At several points, a joining rivulet requires a stone bridge to cross, in particular just before the path meets another half-ruined house. This one is covered in ivy, like something out of a fairy tale, though there are again strict signs warning against entry.
About a mile on, there is a jog away from the burn and up beside a field – it was a touch buggy, as standard in spring, but offered another view down towards the woods. Soon after this, the path turns into the trees again and passes over a metal bridge that is most definitely a single file affair.
Beyond the bridge is a well-kept old farm with rambling roses growing along the barn, and an old stone farmhouse that seemed to be basking in the morning sun, which had by this time emerged again from cloud.
Just after passing the farmhouse, the path joins a private road that is very narrow and quiet, but not completely unused – it is the access road for the farm, and a post van came zooming along it quite quickly. That said, it is unlikely to be busy as it is marked no access to unauthorised vehicles.
From here the path follows this road, winding up away from the farm and climbing a hill between two fields. The view here was excellent, looking back at the main road through this part of Fife and towards the village. But, I was definitely hitting the end of my endurance, and sometimes knowing the end is close makes it harder.
I finished my walk at a rather random spot, where the private road turns towards the village and the coastal path continues. I have every intention of picking it up here again this weekend, as the next portion of the walk is relatively short and should be easier to manage. From this point to the ‘main’ road through Boarhills was just under half a mile, and there I was collected by the other half as I had just missed a bus.
The access to the coastal path was the biggest challenge for this section, as both ends required at least a mile of extra walking that was not ‘official’. But, like the section from Crail to Cambo, it is a beautiful stretch of coastline with golf course, beach, wooded den and more. I am so happy to be back on track and wish I were not disappearing for most of June!
But I am sure I will have other adventures to share about that trip, in due course.
It has been a shockingly long time since I have managed to sit down and focus on a blog post. What can I say? Life got in the way – I’ve been back and forth to the US twice in two months, run a conference at work, and been inundated with life admin that needed to be done. All of this and jet lag meant that since finding time in my hotel room to write about my visit to Crystal Cove, I have really struggled to find the motivation, time and energy to be creative. But, while work continues to be busy and my travel schedule is no less intense, I had to make some time to write. I have never gone this long without posting before, I don’t think, and it feels wrong.
I started pulling the basis of this post together some time ago, when I was submitting pictures for a contest and realised just now many shots I have of reflections. So many hint at this theme, some more effectively than others, but it’s a motif I have always leaned towards. Perhaps because a reflection is so often the embodiment of a moment of calm – an early morning, evening, quiet time when the world is still for just a short second. And because water has a magical way of capturing what is happening in the world and giving it back to you in an image sometimes identical, but often slightly altered.
Here are some shots that I love, and wished to share.
Themes
This series focusses specifically on bird reflections, taken across a variety of locations including West Sands in St Andrews, the Tay River, Loch Leven near Ballachulish, and the Eden Estuary.
Another series, this time on bridges. I have always loved photographing bridges, not in the least due to their symmetry. These bridges include the Ballachulish Bridge, Kenmore Bridge, Guardbridge, Wade’s Bridge in Aberfeldy, and the Historic River Bridge in York.
Tayport
For the relatively short time we lived in Tayport, I was able to really take advantage of the seaside location to capture reflections at all times of day. The harbour was my favourite spot, as you can see – sunrise, sunset and even with a full moon.
St Andrews
The many years I have spent in St Andrews have allowed for plenty of reflections, be it harbour, castle, sunrise, or Craigtoun Park.
St Salvator’s Quad, in the centre of town, was renovated some years ago to include these beautiful slabs of stone that reflect perfectly in the rain (and can be treacherously slippery when wet). Many early morning walks around town enabled these views.
I have said it before, that St Andrews is one of the most photogenic places I know, and the groupings below show just how stunningly beautiful it can be – and how well the clouds and distinctive skyline reflect on the surrounding beaches. West Sands in particular stretching out for miles and – at low tide – what feels like miles wide provides some of the most amazing reflections I have ever captured.
Guardbridge
Morning walks along the Eden Estuary have provided spectacular views, in particular this one taken from the University’s Eden Campus.
The view from the old bridge in Guardbridge is one of my favourites, allowing the sunset or blue sky to reflect off the water at high tide. I have literally 100s of this view – there are more below.
In fact, there were so many of Guardbridge that I could not narrow them down any further than this massive grouping. Living here through the pandemic years meant a daily walk was essential, and capturing the glory of the Eden was inevitable, at all times of day. Even the old mill, which is not particularly attractive but adds something to the scenery.
Scottish Highlands
As anyone who has read my blog thus far is aware, the Highlands (or anything north of Perth really) is an almost sacred area for me. The stunning serene beauty that can be found in the lochs and mountains is almost unmatched in my experience.
The lochs in particular provide ideal opportunities for capturing reflections, at those rare times when the wind dies down and everything is calm and still.
To start with, Loch Katrine, and the almost mirror image of fluffy clouds and blue sky.
These two collections are some of my favourite loch pictures, and include: the view off Spean Bridge (not a loch, but gloriously still), Loch Tay at several points, Loch Linnhe from the Ballachulish bridge, Loch Duich not far from Eilean Donan castle, and the loch at Ballachulish quarry, reflecting the snow-capped Sgorr Dhearg.
These views were captured from Ballachulish bridge, and from across the River Tay looking back at the Kenmore Hotel. Only moments later, the river in the below shot was caught by the wind, and the reflection erased. For the top shot, the water was still for close to thirty minutes, early in the morning before the breeze picked up or the tide shifted.
Last but not least, a vague reflection of the Cuillin Hills just above Sligachan Old Bridge, Skye.
Marblehead
Finally, I have been lucky enough to spend a decent amount of time in my home town in the last year or so – more than I have for more than a decade – and I have captured what I consider to be some lovely views of my favourite places in town.
Starting of course with Redd’s Pond and Old Burial Hill, which I have written about at length. This was a cold morning with the ice just hanging beneath a layer of water on the pond.
Two more shots taken on the same day as the one above, I felt I had to include them anyway, as one captured the monument to sailors of the town. The moonrise was a perfect calm evening last November, and I waited by the harbour for close to an hour for the moon to rise above the clouds.
More Redd’s Pond, but how could I resist? One in late winter, the other in mid-winter at sunrise, on a magical morning that a wrote a whole post about. The reflections here are hazy rather than crisp, but equally lovely.
And last but not least, a picture taken on New Year’s Eve 2025, when I went down to the Marblehead Lobster Company (as it was) to pick up a special dinner for my mother. I and a few other photographers had noticed the not-quite-full moon and the still water that reflected the changing colours in the sky. It was incredibly quiet with only a gentle lap of waves on the shore, and no birds to disturb the surface.
Do you have a favourite one of the images I’ve shared? Let me know, I would love to hear your feedback! I hope you have enjoyed this short trip into a thematic project that has mirrored several others in recent past such as cloudy skies, or sunrise/sunset. I hope to get back to the Coastal Path soon, or at least visit a castle! I’ve also got a few good ideas for posts that I developed while walking around Marblehead this last week – keep an eye out!
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As I have alluded to in my past few posts, January weather has been consistently rubbish. This Saturday really wasn’t much different, except that the rain was more a gentle mist than a downpour. I knew I wasn’t up for a long walk, and I had plenty to do on my last weekend before my next work trip, so this stretch of the coastal path – some of which I have done before but ran into a serious detour – seemed a good idea.
I was also excited to do a proper inaugural hike in my new boots, so I was all ready with my hiking socks and some new insoles that keep my ankles from rolling in. I wrapped up with several layers, and boarded the bus to Leuchars, where I got off at the Olde Hotel. While I can’t say that I was quite as enthused as I have been some mornings – it is hard to be energetic when it’s chilly and damp – I was looking forward to making a tiny bit of progress on my goal. But then I noticed, as I walked along Main Street, that my left foot – the larger one, according to the man who measured them at L.L. Bean – began to rub, quite quickly and painfully. So, I ducked into a bus shelter and found the one Compeed left from my summer walking kit, and plastered it on. I only made it a few more hundred feet before I realised I was in trouble – despite the cushioned plaster, the rubbing was getting worse, and I began to fear that I would have to give up. Also, I was walking unevenly to favour that foot, and I knew that would cause pain in the long run.
Frustration was an understatement – how could these amazing new boots have turned on me?! How could I miss the one opportunity to check off a few more miles? Then it dawned on me – the insole. It was pushing my foot up just enough that it hit a part of the boot it shouldn’t. Despite mud and rain, I managed to get my boot off – again – and pull the insole out. Immediately, the boot felt better and my stubbornness determined that I would manage the walk even with a bit of discomfort. And so I headed on, along the muddy playing fields that abut the castle grounds. My good mood was quickly restored upon meeting a roly-poly black cocker spaniel who ambled up to me and deposited itself on my feet. After a few good ear scratches and a smile, he toddled off again to meet his master. As always, an encounter with a dog improved everything.
Finally, after a bit more drama than I expected, I reached the castle grounds and started my official walk recording. I cannot recall now if I mentioned much about the castle itself last time I did this walk; it is a relatively ‘new’ castle as Scottish castles go, built in 1546 by a Sir William Bruce, a survivor of the devastating Battle of Flodden. This battle is infamous for the death of King James IV of Scotland, who is the last monarch in Great Britain to die in battle (surpassing Richard III by about 30 years). More a mansion than a castle, Earlshall was built in the ‘courtyard’ style, and is still in good shape. It is also, apparently, for sale; if only I had £8 million to spare.
The gated entrance is graced on both sides by carvings of a lord and lady; I stopped for a moment for the below pictures before continuing on my way.
The path at this point leads along a single track road with the estate wall on one side and open fields on the other. One concern on days like this is that with a hood up, it can be difficult to hear approaching vehicles, so it can be a touch treacherous on a narrow stretch like this. Fortunately, I did not encounter a single car.
Ahead on the left as I approached the edge of the army base is a beautiful old Tudor-style barn which I would love to know more about, but can’t seem to find any information about.
Just beyond the barn, the first sign of the actual Coastal Path route leads through a gate and along a track that runs between the base fence on one side and the farm on the other. The fields beyond are the home of several horses and I think a pony or two. In this short section without trees, the weather issue for the day quickly became not the rain but the wind, whipping across the open land of the army base. Once safely inside the treeline it calmed a bit, but I could hear it in the treetops, and they were dancing about a touch violently whenever I looked up.
The excessive rain of the last few weeks was evident along the path, with large puddles in the fields and under the trees, areas that might normally be a bit boggy but now are flooded.
Fortunately the trail was in relatively good shape, not too muddy – at least at this point. As I emerged from the trees, I was hit immediately from one side by the wind, but surprisingly it was less bitter than I expected. I was quickly reaching the point of no return, after which going back would be more work that pushing on, and despite the discomfort of my boot, I was determined not to give up – after all, it didn’t seem to be getting any worse (or so I thought). I could tell that my body wasn’t really into the walk – it was complaining more than I expected and I’m not sure if it was the wind or the cold, but the endorphin rush never really hit. It had very evidently been a while since I’d done exercise like this, with the shorter walks I did over Christmas not really measuring up.
Just under a mile after leaving the castle, I reached the gate where, on my last attempt, I had been forced to take a detour. Fortunately, this time I knew I would be able to take the standard path, as I had seen the update on Facebook that the boardwalk was fully repaired. The sign directing walkers had suffered a bit of wind damage, but the path was clear nonetheless. I passed through two sets of gates and struck out across the field between two fences; the trail rises and falls over hillocks and grass clumps, much more uneven than the farm track.
After a short straight bit that leads at an odd angle away from the farm track, there is a sharp right through another gate. Here you find a warning to walkers to stay on the boardwalk, the first section of which stretches out ahead of you. The wind is much stronger here in the open, and I while I was never cool, I was pleased to have a windbreaker. Sure enough, the boards are very new and well-kept with stripes of raised rough bits that prevent them from becoming slippery, and they pass over some very boggy areas that would be completely impassable at most times of year.
The path alternates on boardwalk sections and uneven muddy ground, following the edge of a fence and meandering through stands of trees. The direct path made me appreciate just how long the detour was that I took last year – the tree line of the forest I walked through is a good half mile or so away.
I have to say despite the weather, this is a quite pleasant stretch of path, and I had it completely to myself – I had seen a few joggers closer to Leuchars, but did not see another soul until I reached the Tentsmuir road. As I crossed the last stretch of bridge, a sign appeared in the distance, surrounded by a huge gorse bush that was just starting to bloom. Here I swung left, and ahead through the treeline I caught just the slightest hint of open sky that indicated the beach. I could also hear the distant crashing of waves, though this came and went for the next mile or so.
Shortly after this left turn, the quality of the new bridges was made clear when I approached an older wooden bridge, this one slippery and grimy from the weather and moss. Nevertheless, the small burn it crossed was lined with trees absolutely dripping in beautiful lichen, coating the branches in a light seafoam green. Up close, the lichen reminds me of types of coral.
Across the bridge, the path passes into a hilly field, mostly empty but dotted with large, dead trees that created all sorts of creepy patterns reminiscent of a Tim Burton movie. There were a few lone pines with needles still on them which must have very deep strong roots, as so many of the larger trees here were blown down in the wind storms we have had in the last few years. Forest lines this field on both sides, with most trees just ghostly outlines with chunks of lichen on them.
My primary observation of this section of the trail is that it is not particularly coastal. Other than the distant waves – which might not be audible in calmer weather – you do not get any hint of sand or beach at all, and could as easily be in inner Fife or Perthshire as less than a mile from the ocean. This is necessitated by the army base as well as the nature reserve, but I am looking forward to getting back to the seaside views.
Eventually the trail passes out of the field and through another gate – very muddy here for a short while – and onto a forest track with clear vehicle ruts. The forest here is quite pleasant, a mix of pine and birch, and it blocks most of the wind so that it is also very quiet. The rain had completely stopped by and it was a nice stretch of path. That said, it went on quite a bit longer than I expected, and I found myself wishing for one of the first times on the Fife Coastal Path that I had some music to listen to.
Several times on this stretch I thought I could see the end in sight, as the trees seemed to close in over the trail a bit or indicate a change in pattern. However, on at least two examples I was disappointed to discover that I had been a touch premature in my hopes. I was not particularly tired, but the pain in my left foot was growing steadily worse and my right foot was starting to rub slightly as well, so the last 15 minutes or so really seemed to drag – not something I find happens often on this path. I was so relieved to finally see, in the distance, the very man-made shape of a horizontal bar, dividing the path from the road beyond. Here I knew it was just a short distance along the road to the stables, where the other half was to meet me.
Unfortunately, this last short section was the least pleasant, as the road is narrow and the path alongside it even narrower and, on occasion, not present. It was muddy, started raining again, and the cars were regular enough that I was not confident venturing onto the tarmac at all; I even found myself switching sides of the road a few times in search of a better patch to walk on. But I did not have far to go.
Overall, then, not my favourite part of the Fife Coastal Path, though it had some pleasant sections and would probably have been even more pleasant without the enormous blister I was causing on my heel. (as I discovered when I reached home, it really was impressive, covering most of the back of my foot – oops).
I am still in love with my hiking boots though, particularly since the blisters were really my own fault for having put in new insoles and not tested them. Overall, they did a fantastic job and were very sturdy, keeping my ankles from rolling even on quite uneven ground. They dealt well with the mud and puddles, and my feet were bone dry
I’m not sure when I’ll get back out onto the path as work is taking over life for the month of February (and early March), but fingers crossed I’ll get out in March before the next round of travel.
After a summer of almost unprecedented beauty, day after day of blue sky and warm temperatures, Scotland is getting its karmic retribution in January. We have had steadily wet, grey, cold, windy weather for most of this month. Some days are colder than others, some windier, and some have been icy, but almost all have been dreary, and while Scotland of course has its reputation for weather, this is extreme. Extremely bad.
But, sometimes grey weather can lead to a silver lining, of sorts – in fact, I have a real affection for storms, for big roiling clouds that turn all sorts of blues and yellows and greys and blacks as bad weather approaches. (Not that we are getting those now, which is part of the problem, just endless cloud with no variation). So, in honour of this truly unpleasant January, I thought it might be worth pulling together some of my favourite stormy sky pictures from over the years – both with dramatic clouds and the grey skies that create atmosphere, particularly here in Scotland.
I feel I should observe that when I went through my pictures to select some for this post, I ended up with more than 90 that I liked – the ones I include here are a choice selection. I feel this indicates both Scotland’s prevalence for overcast (perpetuating the stereotype), but more my own passion for stormy skies, and the increased likelihood that I will scurry out the door with my phone or camera to catch a dark sky.
Guardbridge
It seemed most appropriate to start closer to home, with two of the views I photograph most often – the bridge at the north end of Guardbridge, and the view across the Eden Estuary towards St Andrews.
The bridge picture was taken in the spring, with roiling clouds twisting and turning in light that was at times black, at times yellow. Similarly, the light in the view over the Eden is a mixture of silvery grey and yellow, though it was taken in the depth of winter. In fact, it was February 2021, the iciest month we have had in some years, and deep in the heart of the pandemic lockdown. My daily walk was my lifeline to nature, to the outside world, and it was so poignant to look across to the town where I should have been working and spending most of my time.
Tayport
As I have mentioned before, we spent the earliest months of the covid pandemic living in Tayport, and our view over the Tay provided the opportunity to watch some truly epic storms.
The group below includes a yellow-orange storm light that I just loved and the sunny blue with the storm clouds drifting away towards the ocean. The last of the three is the one I had at least 20 versions of: a purple-black cloud over the far shore, topped by fluffy white. Visually stunning and fascinating to watch.
The two below were taken on the same day, a few minutes apart, and remain two of my favourite storm pictures. The first because you can still see the benevolent blue sky above the white and then purple clouds, and the second for its view out to sea and how lonely and small the Larick Beacon looks against the dark.
St Andrews and East Neuk
Living and working right on the coast allows for some of the best stormy sky pictures, and while St Andrews is often considered a bubble with its own weather, it does not escape dramatic clouds.
The castle picture here was taken in February 2018, and the distant clouds are remnants of the first wave of the Beast from the East, an epic snow storm that shut Scotland down for several days. I managed to get into work on the Wednesday and pick up a laptop, but had to leave early to get home before the bus service stopped. The cathedral ruin shot comes from May 2021, on one of my few days in the office as the University slowly re-opened, while the Market Street shot is just over a year later, with plenty of people happily wandering the town and hoping they do not get rained on.
My more recent walking efforts along the Fife Coastal Path have been fortunate enough to be mostly sunny, but a few dark and stormy days have been on the cards. My walk to Anstruther ended with me cowering under a bus shelter as the storm clouds opened, while a preparatory walk along West Sands was equally in danger of ending in rain.
Isle of SkyE
Dad and I were so lucky on one of our trips to Skye to be favoured with spectacular weather; the second visit was less fortunate, and we had a few good squalls come through to dampen our hiking.
I love the wide open fields of sheep you see on Skye, and I thought this view of a cloudy day was perhaps more appropriate than a sunny alternative. Likewise, the intermittent rain we experienced while attempting to climb the Old Man of Storr allowed for very atmospheric shots across the Skye coastline. Finally, while it is only just visible, if you zoom into the smaller grassy picture, you will spot evidence of a Highland native peeking over the hill.
HighLands and Perthshire
I fight hard both in my posts and in my work to stifle the stories that Scotland is a wet, cold, rainy place. Or at least, that it is ALWAYS wet, cold and rainy. That said, Fort William is on the rainier west coast, and the winter months do bring in a fair amount of doom and gloom.
I found this picture of Loch Faskally in Pitlochry while searching for reflection shots (a future post, no doubt) but fell in love both with the clarity of the reflection and the wispy clouds melting into the treeline.
The further north you go, the more dramatic the pictures. These two were taken of and from (respectively) the Nevis Range; one on a wintry afternoon and one on an otherwise sunny day, where the clouds closed in higher up. The view of Nevis Range with snow and half in the clouds was partly our inspiration for hoping to retire up north.
On the same day as the first picture above was taken, we ventured out along the A830 to Glenfinnan, seeing as we could not really go hiking. While I would have loved to capture the monument, viaduct and views of Loch Shiel in sunlight (and did several years later), the cloaking mist and rain were again quite atmospheric. One can just imagine ships emerging from the haze, heading for the end of the loch, where the monument now stands – filled with huddling, cold soldiers ready for a fight.
And hey, Glenfinnan Viaduct looks pretty incredible in any weather.
Finally, there is one spot that is even more evocative in the clouds, and that is Culloden Moor, and the monuments to the clansmen who died there in 1746. I visited some years back with Mum, and there is no question that the emotions are heightened on a day like this.
Puerto Rico and the South
The Caribbean is known far more for its sunny weather than for its storms, but no one living there would deny that the heat of the ocean creates for some amazingly awful weather. The pictures below include one dark cloud rolling over the Vieques sound, and then two beach pictures that were taken shortly before I was required to hide (mostly fruitlessly) beneath some trees during a downpour of rain.
In fact, some of the heaviest rainstorms I have experienced have not been in Scotland, but instead in Puerto Rico and in Florida. On my most recent trip to Orlando, I was driving on the highway in a storm so powerful it almost blinded me – not something I wish to experience again.
This shot was taken ten minutes before an intense Florida storm, and I love how innocuous the puffy white clouds look. But how ominous they actually are.
What these cotton-like towers really mean is run for cover.
My love for thunderstorms comes I am sure from summers on the boat, watching storms pass by under the knowledge – assured by my father – that other boats would be hit before us. We spent more than a few summer evenings huddled just under an awning, watching storms race across Marblehead harbour or the lake in Canada.
Approaching storms
In fact, sometimes the most exhilarating storms are the ones you have been able to see coming from a distance. I find that anticipation, that slow transition from a sunny day to an ever dark one, fascinating. The wind often picks up, and you can smell the rain coming even before it hits you. So here are a few of my favourite distant rain pictures, including Fife farmland, a Puerto Rican mountain, the Beast from the East over St Andrews Bay, and a stunning pink sunset rainstorm.
Monuments under clouds
To wrap up this post of a love story to cloudy skies, I thought it would be fun to include some views of castles and monuments. Like in the Highlands, a sunny sky might be most desired when capturing special locations, but a dramatic sky is the next best thing. It is certainly never boring.
Château Comtal, Carcassonne.
I got plenty in the sun, but this might be my favourite.
Paris, taken from Notre Dame in 2005. An overcast trip for the most part, but still beautiful.
Romsey Abbey, from the beer garden of a nearby pub. Happy to report that we did not get wet.
Balvaird Castle, on a windy day when the weather changed almost constantly. The clouds blew past at an alarming rate, though fortunately for me, as I stayed dry.
And finally, the pièce de résistance, a dramatic location in any weather, but even more moving with great dark clouds: Stonehenge. When we visited, we were allowed to wander up quite close to the monument, almost close enough to touch the stones. Like few other famous places, Stonehenge did not disappoint – it was mysterious, spiritual (and I am not a particularly spiritual person) and an incredible touchstone to thousands of years of history.
It sure would be nice to see it in the sun someday.
Finally after a long break, I determined last week that I would return to my Fife Coastal Path endeavour. The last month or so of travel has meant that my efforts to maintain fitness levels dragged a bit, and so I selected a portion of the walk that was not too long but still tested me a bit: starting at the Fairmont Hotel and walking through St Andrews to the Old Course Hotel, where I started my walk to Guardbridge many months ago. The first two miles are traditional Fife Coastal Path: rising and falling along the edge of the coastline with dramatic stretches of rocky shore and beaches. Then, the last mile and a bit is in St Andrews, along East Sands, up the Scores, and past the famous Old Course. This is a really pleasant walk, but the out of town section does require some stamina and sturdy shoes.
As would be expected in November, the morning was cool (8℃/46℉) with a cold wind and mostly cloudy with patches of blue sky. I wore my raincoat mostly as a windbreaker but also to guarantee against any stray rain showers – fortunately only needed for the wind. The bus trip was a short one – about 10 minutes – on the trusty 95 from St Andrews, and the stop is right on the road outside the entrance to the Fairmont estate. Fortunately there is a well-kept path running from the bus stop and along the access road up to the hotel. It is a gentle decline, allowing for a view over the North Sea as well as up to the hotel building, across the golf course.
I wasn’t 100% confident as to the route to actually get to the Coastal Path, but I knew that the walk from the hotel into town was done by guests, and so I figured it must be possible. There was no question that I was not there for the golf, as most others were – my attire was a bit different from the slick sporting outfits.
It took me about fifteen minutes from the road to wind towards the hotel the past, and down to the clubhouse for the Torrance. The views across the courses are beautiful even on an overcast day, and the outline of St Andrews is very clear; I really must come back here in the sun! This is clear evidence as to why the Fairmont used to be called the St Andrews Bay Hotel.
Distant St Andrews – with a powerful zoom lens
To get my bearings, I chose to walk down below the clubhouse and past the delivery parking, where I realised that I needed to backtrack slightly to an access road onto the course. From there, I turned right through a break in a stone wall and it was an easy walk to the second wall, dividing the course from the Coastal Path. I used a wooden ladder to scale the wall, though I think there was a break a bit further up for anyone less inclined to climb.
Finally at the starting point, I set my Fitbit to record and started on my way, enjoying immediately the return to a cliffside muddy track, along a stone wall, with waves crashing below. There were a few occasions where my eyes filled with water due to the wind, and I did have to wear my hideous winter hat, but I was warm enough once I got moving.
From here, the path eventually goes down some stone steps and across a bridge over a burn, after which it curves to the right and descends quite sharply towards the beach level. While my boots were not as comfortable as they once were, I was glad to have them here where the recent rain has made the small rivulets into rushing burns and even the grassy areas into mud.
The coastal views are great here in both directions, though the wind is definitely a force to be reckoned with – as ever in Scotland, layers are key. I spend a great deal of time at work explaining that it seldom gets as cold in Scotland as it does in parts of the US, but the wind is biting so it can feel much colder than it is. This was one of those days.
As the path descends it essentially passes through a hedgerow, and you can see the cliffs above you, mostly covered with plants though there are the occasional dramatic rocky outcroppings and circling birds. On the beach level, you can enjoy crashing waves, and ahead is the shape of the Rock and Spindle.
It was about here that I passed a couple who were clearly familiar with the path, and who observed that I had about 45 minutes until high tide, with a gentle warning in their tone.
Yes, I had once again forgotten to check the tide, though to be honest it was because I did not think it was an issue on this section. My error, clearly, and while I assured the couple that I would be fine, I decided that it was time to hustle a bit. So rather than pausing and taking many wave pictures (as I was tempted to do), I crossed the rocky beach and identified relatively quickly where my potential problem lay.
Specifically, it lay right about here, where the waves stretched inland along a rocky edge, threatening to very quickly cut me off from the path ahead. Like many of these small beaches, this cove was backed by a rock cliff and, as the sign clearly told me, if the tide was too high I would have no choice but to wait – there was no high tide route.
So, onwards I scrambled, and found myself looking at a rock face about 4 feet high with one foothold that was a bit higher than I thought my right leg might go. There is no picture, as I realised I did not have time to waste. So it wasn’t graceful or smooth, but I managed to get up the rocks and keep my feet dry – just barely. I probably had another 5 minutes before I would have had to stop. Good timing, then.
Beyond this pinch point, the rocky shore continued for another few minutes before I was able to rejoin the smoother path, and pass the sign in the photo above. I swear next time I will check more carefully.
Side note, I can see why Geology and Earth Science classes from the University would come out here for outings – there is a huge range of fascinating rock formations even for someone who knows nothing about them, and excellent examples of the ocean carving through stone over time.
Ahead, in particular, is the Rock and Spindle, a famous formation that has been widely studied and photographed. According to some brief reading I did, the three stacks are made primarily of solidified volcanic ash, the remains of an ancient submarine volcano.
As I approached I was feeling uncertain that the sun would be helpful and actually break through the clouds, then as the path curved around to follow the shoreline, spectacularly the sun prevailed and provided some excellent contrast for my pictures.
A few words of caution if you are approaching from the direction I did – don’t get too caught up looking at the view, as the path here is crossed several times by burns. The rocks and grass are slippery and often wet, so it would be all too easy to fall.
There is also, I should note, a route above the rock formation which offers great views across the golf course and of the Castle Course clubhouse; Dad and I took this path when we walked out here many years ago (and of course I cannot find those pictures for reference). Alternatively, walkers can get down to the beach here to get closer to the rocks, but I was ready to make some progress and so passed through a wonky gate and continued on my way.
The path here becomes the more standard grassy path, and as I approached St Andrews I started to doubt whether the predicted sunshine would overcome what seemed to be pretty steady clouds. The overcast sky did not prevent me from taking plenty of different views of the town as I approached, of course – here are a few. Do I have sunny versions of these? Almost certainly. But there is something about this view of town that is impossible to resist.
After ambling along at a good pace, enjoying being at the water level and the crashing waves, I realised that the cove I was in was quickly reaching its end, and there ahead of me was one of the Fife Coastal Path’s infamous – in my mind – stone staircases. The steps themselves are generally flat-ish rocks that have been layered into the hillside, and often wind back and forth as they climb steadily upwards. This is one of the longer sets that I have come across, and it definitely tested my endurance, which has declined since the summer. The view is of course excellent particularly if you have to stop and catch your breath.
Once you make it to the top, however, the path is relatively level for some time, with only gentle ups and downs. The crest of the next hill provides a spectacular view over the bay and town – it is THE view, the one photographers will climb up here to capture. Even without sun, it is impressive. That said, as I made my way along the clifftop, the sun did make an appearance, highlighting the lighter stone of the cathedral ruins and harbour, bright against the turbulent waters of the bay.
The path here is wider and more regularly-used, with joggers and weekend walkers more common. It is easy to get distracted by the view on one side, while on the other the golf course rolls into the distance until it comes to an end at a line of tall pine trees. This marks the boundary between the Castle Course and St Andrews Holiday park, a large caravan site at the edge of town. Passing through a metal gate, you will notice a narrow path heading up to the road, so in theory you could begin a walk here as well, or do a loop up from town and back along the coast.
St Andrews and the bay
The view is just incredible, as gradually you move closer and closer to East Sands. Then in no time at all you are descending once more, along the edge of the caravan estate on a relatively steep set of stairs. There is a viewpoint off to the right, and then the path continues towards the beach.
One last gentle hill leads down off of the Coastal Path proper and onto the walk along East Sands, the wide open beach of St Andrews edged by the cliff on one end and the pier on the other.
just because…
Those of us who have lived in St Andrews for any length of time will tell you that the weather there is different, golden in a way that cannot be matched anywhere in Scotland. It might be a blizzard in Cupar, raining in Guardbridge, but it is sunny in St Andrews. Not always, of course, but more often than not the town enjoys its own pocket of good weather, and this day was no exception.
As I passed this slightly tattered Saltire at the end of the beach, the sun fought its way through the last of the clouds, and the day opened up into beautiful sunshine. Was it sunny at the Fairmont? Who was to say.
East Sands is always busy with walkers, dogs, swimmers, surfers, and sailors depending on the weather, and today was no different. Even in the cold weather and even colder water there were people out in wetsuits. And, some brave souls just in bathing suits, though I learned later that they were dashing up the beach to the newly-built sauna. This is the beach where students take part in the famous May Dip, and is a spectacular place for sunrise, as well as to catch the Northern Lights if you are lucky. The East Sands walk takes you past the University nursery, the East Sands Leisure Centre (town pool), the Scottish Oceans Institute and the famous Toastie Shack, perfect for a beach snack.
The edge of East Sands marks the start of the portion of the Coastal Path that I know like the back of my hand, have walked 100s of times over the years and love. But oddly, I was not confident as to the actual route of the path. My map told me to turn left at the Toastie shack, but the signs told me to continue strait.
As the straight-ahead route was arguably prettier, leading along the beach and over the harbour gate, I chose to follow the signs. Here, the path goes through the play park and along the edge of the beach, allowing for a great vista across the water and up to the Fairmont.
On the other side is a wide grassy bank that leads over to where the Kinness Burn enters the harbour. I wandered over to take a quick picture, but it is worth warning that this stretch of grass is full of holes, dips and – annoyingly – the occasional dog dropping, so best to keep looking down. Soon the path curves around to the left and down a short hill towards the harbour. Cross at the harbour gates and then swing right either in front of or behind the line of buildings. Officially, the path goes behind, but I don’t think it matters greatly. This is one of the most photographed parts of St Andrews, with the colourful buildings and the old harbour, and the entrance to the famous St Andrews pier.
If you have the time, I recommend a detour out to the end of the pier, as the view back is phenomenal. The pier had been closed for some time due to damage sustained during a storm in November 2023 – it is great to see it back open and so many people enjoying the walk. As often happens on a sunny day after a few of rain, the town was busy with students, visitors and locals all out enjoying the day.
Side note, I have several times on these walks had the weather improve as the day goes on, and wonder if I shouldn’t wait until later in the day to get going. But instead, I just keep heading out as early on a Saturday as I can manage. Maybe that will change as the winter closes in, but probably not.
Whether you detour out the pier or not, you have two choices for climbing back up to cliff-top level; the first is a set of stairs, and the second is a hill so steep that cyclists are required to walk their bikes up or down. I opted for the hill, and either way you arrive at a great viewpoint over the town. There are the ruins here of St Mary on the Rock – a church outline – and several cannon aimed out to sea. The highlight is of course the view of the cathedral wall and remaining towers straight ahead.
The path is wide, with a stone wall along the edge of the cliff, though if you look down you will see familiar rocky coastline and birds nesting or bobbing in the water. Ahead there are two options, and neither is marked though I think the obvious choice is to hug the coastline and take the right-hand fork. The left leads you along the cathedral wall and towards North Street.
The fork I recommend is also the one that takes walkers along one of my most favourite stretches of path in St Andrews, and possibly all of Scotland: up a gentle hill between the cathedral and the castle, one of the best viewpoints in the area. You can see into the cathedral grounds, down to the pier, out to sea, and of course along the coast to the castle and distant West Sands. It is a place that is almost meditative for me – I have walked it more times than I would hope to count, even now seldom stopping to take pictures and only enjoying the view. A scattering of sea roses makes it the perfect spot in summer, and there are two benches ideally placed to rest and enjoy. Definitely take a few moments to do so, if you can.
St Andrews Castle is of course directly ahead, its outline something I imagine I could draw with my eyes closed. I cannot pass without a picture, so on this occasion I included the Coastal Path sign – in one of them.
Once past the castle, the route continues along the Scores, one of the most beautiful streets in St Andrews and one of the most expensive in Scotland. The University owns a good portion of the buildings and you will pass, amongst others: the Schools of English, Economics, Philosophy, Classics, International Relations and History, the University Museum, St Salvator’s Hall and the back of St Salvator’s Quad, the Principal’s House, and the Admissions office. The buildings in between which are privately owned are large, some very old and some very new, all with phenomenal views. The Scores is lined at varying points by stone walls, and you can choose to walk on either side, though I always feel that the left going away from the castle is ever so slightly nicer. It is wider, and you do have to look out that you do not wander into the cycle lane.
About half way along on the left, Butts Wynd cuts up towards North Street, offering a stunning view of St Salvator’s Chapel.
It may be tempting to nip up to the quad and take a few pictures, so by all means do so here if this is your one trip through St Andrews. For golf enthusiasts, the best is yet to come.
Continuing along the Scores, you will pass the Catholic Church, and ahead on the corner of Murray Park is what used to be the Russell Hotel, which was one of our favourite spots in town for excellent Scottish food. The couple who owned it eventually retired and the majority of the structure was torn down, so that all that remained was the listed frontispiece. As of writing, it is enshrouded in scaffolding and being rebuilt into what I understand will be flats.
At this point I recommend crossing the street and continuing roughly straight ahead. Along the cliff you will find a tall wrought iron fence with warning signs as to the sheer drop on the other side – this is due at least in part to the unfortunate tendency for students to wish to climb the fence, which has devastatingly led to fatal injury in the past.
Avoid the temptation to turn right down the steps toward the Aquarium, and while there is no clear signage continue straight towards the towering Martyrs’ Monument, which was put in place to commemorate those killed during the Reformation. Beyond the Monument is the Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St Andrews and the famous Old Course. To the left, the buildings of the Scores including what used to be the Scores Hotel but is now Seton House, and the towering red Hamilton Grand, that incredible framing building to all pictures of the 18th hole. When I was a student it was still student housing, though has in intervening years been re-build into luxury condos.
Continue down the hill and cross the road, continuing up Golf Place towards North Street – do not head toward the beach, though there are public toilets in that direction should they be needed.
Continue to follow the golf course by turning right along the Links, which is a narrow road that runs between the Old Course and the buildings that include the famous Auchterlonies Golf Shop, the Rusacks Hotel, and the New Golf Club. There are regular signs reminding you of this, but golf is being played year-round, so pay attention for stray shots!
As you walk along the course, you will get some great views towards the Swilcan Bridge – where all golf competition winners have their pictures taken, as do many tourists.
Follow the white fence when it curves around the end of the buildings and keep moving towards the hotel, straight ahead through the car park. In only a few minutes, you arrive at the entrance to the hotel grounds, where there is a clear sign to mark the end of this section.
Overall, a comfortable walk with a few spots to challenge you and a few spots to just enjoy the view. The section through St Andrews is beautiful, but I still think I prefer the out in the wild paths such as the one from Crail to Cambo – for hiking, in any case.
A small calamity of this walk was the realisation that my walking boots, purchased in the spring, just aren’t cutting it anymore. They have worn down and are encouraging my ankles to roll in even more than they do naturally, so I am on the lookout for a replacement. Good thing Christmas is coming, as I hope I can request a new pair! Any recommendations on brand would be welcome.
Autumn and winter compete as my favourite seasons of the year, both for photography and life in general. There are few things that make me happier than a snowstorm and snow scape (see my post about Marblehead in snow). That said, the colours of autumn are just stunning, be they orange, red, gold, or anything in between. This year in particular, I had two trips that reminded me of the spectacular nature of autumn on both sides of the Atlantic; and I am lucky enough to call both regions home – or very close to it.
As I have written about before, Pitlochry is a special place for us, and one to which we return regularly. Our first weekend away in November many years ago allowed us to catch the very end of the autumn colour, but this year we chose to take a day trip on my weekend at home, and we caught some gorgeous golds and yellows (despite the often overcast weather). My favourite point on the drive, which I have mentioned before, is just as you turn a corner on the A9, and on this trip we could see just the start of the colour.
In Pitlochry, we parked at the edge of town and meandered our way through the crowds (yes, even a small town in Perthshire has crowds), then down to Loch Faskally and the famous Pitlochry dam, where there is a fish ladder and excellent views in both directions. We crossed the dam and walked a short way around the loch, where we could look back on the trees still in sunshine.
The standard walking loop in Pitlochry goes across the dam and then down the far side of the river, past the Festival Theatre. This theatre reminds me very much of the North Shore Music Theatre which I visited frequently while growing up, for its eclectic shows and unique nature. I have never actually attended a show here, but some day soon…
Not far beyond the theatre, the street passes by some stone cottages on one side and an inn on the other, then walkers must pay close attention not to miss the narrow entrance to the turn-off across the pedestrian suspension bridge. From this bridge, the view looking back towards the dam and the river is fantastic.
Once across the bridge, walkers can continue up through the town or take a sharp left to follow the riverbank back towards the dam and its visitor centre. We chose this route as there were several families ahead of us moving at the pace of the accompanying toddlers, and we wished to go back up to the overlook of the loch, below. Side note, the visitor center is relatively new (opened less than 10 years ago), and offers a great café, small gift shop, and clean restrooms.
The sun on this day just would not cooperate and show off the yellows and oranges the way I wanted, but I think you can get a hint of what we saw.
After a quick lunch in Pitlochry, we headed back to the car to drive up to Killiecrankie, which is only a few miles north.
The walk here is famous for stunning colour, but apparently everyone else had heard that too – there was not a place to park, and so we drove a bit further north to Blair Atholl. Immediately upon crossing the bridge into the town, there is a small car park where we stopped and found a walk along the riverbank.
Finally, here the sun came out in honest and I was able to capture a bit more of what we saw in person, brightness that really isn’t as visible in the above, overcast pictures.
We thought very briefly about going all the way to House of Bruar, but decided it would likely be even busier than Pitlochry, so not appealing. The drive home boasted one more impressive view, looking up at Kinnoull Hill near Perth, from the A9. There was a hint of what once had been (or may be on a less dry autumn).
The rumour on TV was that this year had been so dry, that all of the famous New England colour would be muted. It may be that further north this was the case, but on my drive from Boston to Greenwich, CT and back again, I saw some of the most amazing colour I can remember in many years. Now, granted, this was only my second autumn visit to New England in 20 years, but I found myself in awe over the beauty and vivacity of the leaves. There was one colour, which I do not seem to have managed to capture, that was an almost fluorescent pink-orange that you would not be blamed for thinking could not appear in nature – I was desperate to capture this colour, but it seemed only to exist on the side of the highway, where I could not stop. Nonetheless, I managed a few lovely views and took some short breaks while driving to stretch out my back and enjoy the scenery.
My first stop was at a rest area heading south, about halfway between Sturbridge, Massachusetts and Hartford, Connecticut. I did not expect it, but the small information cabin included a back porch looking over the river below, lined by some stunning maples.
The next morning I found myself favoured by traffic and so 40 minutes early for an appointment, making it possible for me to take a short detour down a tree-lined road to a pond. The reflection of the trees on the calm water was stunning, and there was a small brook meandering past the road.
My final day in Connecticut was dominated by the long drive from New Canaan to Marblehead, through downtown Boston as going through Salem is not an option in October (as I was reminded frequently). This was looking to be around 4 hours, so I planned to stop twice along the way – my back was starting to show the wear and tear of a busy few weeks in the car.
My second and final stop was just outside Sturbridge, Massachusetts, where there was a short mile-long walk around a pond – the perfect opportunity to stretch legs/back, and take a walk in the woods. Sure enough, while once again I was stymied in finding many bright colours, I found the golden hues everywhere, and it was a beautiful afternoon.
The light shining through the yellow trees against white birch bark reminded me of a scene in House of Flying Daggers, a film known for its imagery perhaps more than its story.
I am forever grateful to myself for taking this interlude, as what should have been two more hours in the car turned into three as I hit the Friday afternoon traffic through Boston. That was a long drive.
I am forever grateful, though, for a job that allows me to experience this kind of journey at a time of year when I could not visit for so long. I hope that I may be back next year.
Finally, while this visit to Dunkeld did not take place this year, I have been wanting to post these pictures for some time and was looking for the right time. Several years ago, as I recovered from my second bout of Covid, the other half suggested a day trip as I was no longer testing positive and had been confined to the house for two weeks. Dunkeld is a beautiful village in Perthshire – one of many – even closer than Pitlochry, boasting a medieval cathedral and some lovely homes.
On the day in question, we arrived just after lunch and walked through the village to the cathedral, then down to the river where you can walk along the bank back towards the main bridge.
While it was later in the season, there was still a touch of yellow and gold, particularly in what I think are beech trees. As we approached the bridge, the sun was glinting off the river between the mostly-empty branches of the trees, and I took about 10 pictures of the leaves. These are the better ones.
The day was growing clearer, and so we climbed up to the bridge and across, to take in the view from both sides. In one direction is the village, spread along the riverbank and the hills.
In the other direction is the river and – just visible through the trees – the tower of the cathedral. Covid exhaustion meant that I was not really up for a long walk, and so we headed back towards the car via a coffee shop on the main street.
On the day we visited, there was a perfect Scottish mist hanging on the treetops, though the hints of red and orange are still visible between the green pines.
This is one of my favourite pictures of Dunkeld, and the grassy area you can just see on the left side is where the cathedral grounds meet the river.
There is nothing particularly thought-inducing about this post, but I wanted to share my appreciation for autumn in both of the places I have lived. New England colour is world-famous, and deservedly so, but Scotland – along with many other countries – produces its own autumnal glory. It may not be as dramatic, but it is beautiful.
For anyone who works in education, September is an unavoidably busy month, and this September was no exception. I hope you will accept this post as a solid explanation of why it has been the only one in some time – the weeks have gotten away from me. Not in the least because as now has become standard for me, September is travelling-for-work month. I was fortunate enough to see some truly spectacular sights in my just over two weeks away, from the Golden Gate Bridge to the redwoods of Muir Woods and the streets of a new city or two. I also managed some fantastic ‘out of the plane window’ views, and even a glimpse of the northern lights, all topped off by a beautiful early-morning return to Edinburgh flying across Fife, with the sun rising in the east. So, here is a glimpse into my busy and exciting month of September.
The Northern Lights – a glimpse of magic while still in Scotland
I am fortunate to have friends and an other half more than willing to go out at 9.30pm to stand on the dark beach of West Sands and look for stars, the rising moon or, in this case, the Aurora Borealis. The alert app I use had been red a few times this summer, but usually only in the middle of the night or while the sky was still light (not, of course, mutually exclusive in Scotland in summer), so I was excited when there were rumours of two good nights in early September. My fellow night sky aficionados and I headed out as the last light in the sky was fading, and we were lucky enough to catch a bit of green and purple through our lenses – not visible to the naked eye, but still fantastic, with colours not normally seen in the night sky. This made for an excellent start to the month, and an excellent opportunity to play with night settings on my new camera.
I try, before disappearing for a few weeks, to connect with friends I may not see much, and we enjoyed a lovely end of summer evening at the local pub, with a pint or two down by the river. It was truly the end of summer, for while I left Scotland with temperatures still hovering at no-jacket levels, by the time I returned autumn had well and truly landed. Edinburgh was 4℃ when I arrived (around 40℉).
A quick jaunt to England
Before departing for the US, I first had a quick overnight trip down to Manchester to attend a training session. I will spare you the absurdities of UK train travel, which works well a good portion of the time but when it goes wrong goes spectacularly wrong. Suffice it to say, it was helpful to have knowledge of the trains and very little luggage as my original train was cancelled and I was forced to very quickly change plans. I arrived about 3 hours later than planned, but the next day’s return journey went very smoothly. Train journeys in the UK – particularly long ones – are a wonderful opportunity to get a good feel for the countryside and I have been known to just stare out the window for the whole trip between Durham and Edinburgh.
Manchester required a different route than I was used to, passing through – amongst other places – Lancaster, a northern city I have always wanted to explore. We were held up for a short time just at the edge of the city, at sunset, allowing me to capture these lovely views.
I had hoped to add a few tidbits here about Manchester as well, but I really did not spend enough time there to get a feel; I arrived late, spent all day in the conference centre, and left after a short walk. I was delighted to discover a Dunkin Donuts near to Piccadilly, but did not have the time to pop in. Definitely a city I would like to have more time to explore.
Across the pond…and beyond
Two days after my training journey to Manchester, I woke up well before dawn (3.30am if you must know, who says travel is all glitz and glamor?) to get the airport bus. I tend to request window seats on flights, as they can be more helpful if you want to try to sleep (something I am still quite rubbish at). A happy coincidence is that you also occasionally get the most fantastic views. The second leg of my flight was from Atlanta to San Francisco, and as we got to about one hour out of SFO, I took a peek out the window. For anyone who has not had a chance to fly over the western US, I’d highly recommend aiming for a window seat if you can, as I was greeted by the spectacular sights of stark desert and treeless ridges of mountains. The setting sun cast an orange light over the hills at the far edge of San Francisco Bay, and it was one of the more amazing flights I’ve had in some time.
The following day, I met a friend for lunch at the New England Lobster Market, which did seem a touch absurd but also perfect as we had met in high school. I took a short detour walk along the coastline near my hotel, with views over the bay and the airport which is situated, similarly to Boston, essentially in the water.
Jet lag heading west is, in my opinion, easier than heading east and I was up early to visit my first school in a neighbourhood where the omnipresent San Francisco mist was just lifting as the sun rose.
The following morning, I woke up to a bit of a surprise: I had parked my car under a tree at the hotel thinking that it might keep some sun off. It did, but it also encouraged the invasion by a colony of ants. I opened the car door to find them all over the rubber lining, on the dashboard, in the cup holders, and – though I didn’t realise it right away – in the boot/trunk where I had stashed my materials for the day.
Cursing the less-than-clean interior of my newly collected car, I wiped everything down with some grapefruit-scented face wipes I had once picked up in an airport; they were just astringent enough to do the job well, though for the rest of the week I would find rogue ants scrambling across the dashboard.
Having dealt with this infestation I headed off for a school on the north side of the city, requiring a drive through the Presidio park – one of the better drives of my life, winding through stands of pine and cypress trees and beautiful homes, finally emerging to a large parking area alongside the Main Parade Lawn. Have arrived a bit early, I decided that I would walk down to the park briefly before my appointment.
The Presidio is a park and formerly – as the name indicates – US Army post that is now part of the Golden Gate National Park. The area where I parked was newly renovated, with pristine grass and pathways, all very clean and with phenomenal views of the Golden Gate Bridge, out into the bay to Alcatraz island, as well as back towards the sloping city centre. Even carrying all of my materials I managed to get a few good pictures, which I then had to re-take after my appointment once the sun had completely emerged from the clouds. It was a breath-taking way to start my week in the Bay Area.
Returning to my hotel that evening, I was looking forward to the second half of the take-away meal I had bought the night before. I had, when leaving that morning, asked reception if housekeeping could look at the fridge in my room as it seemed to be very cold, and I had searched as much as I could for a dial. Having been assured it would be dealt with, I came home and noticed that the fridge door was ajar – a bit extreme I thought, but I figured housekeeping had done it on purpose. Not so much. Instead, I quickly realised that the temperature was as cold as ever and instead one of the cans of seltzer water I was storing had exploded, spreading now-melting shrapnel around the interior of the fridge and my room floor. My dinner was frozen solid, and the remaining cans of seltzer were slush, with one more can so badly deformed that it was clearly not far from also exploding. Excellent. Clean-up and new dinner required.
I spent the rest of the week covering as much of the Bay Area as I could, driving more than 500 miles up and down around the bay, before finally reaching Friday afternoon. This was the day I was changing hotels, and I had been invited to dinner at the home of my friend’s parents – as mentioned above, this was one of my best friends from high school who I had not seen in almost 20 years, but we had always been lucky enough to enjoy one of those friendships that years do not alter. We fell into conversation immediately and spent time reminiscing as well as catching up on what the intervening years had held – or at least scratching the surface.
Prior to meeting her for dinner, I had decided to spend an hour exploring the city a bit. So, upon leaving my car and luggage safely in my new hotel, I ventured onto the BART train – not that different really to Boston’s MBTA though perhaps newer – and stepped out at Embarcadero station. Here, I was only steps away from the Ferry Building Marketplace, and so I headed for the tall clock tower and, once across the busy Embarcadero street, turned left to follow the coast.
I walked along the many piers of San Francisco from Pier 1, past some that were used for cruises, some for day trips, some for fishing, and much more I am sure. As I walked, Coit tower became more and more prominent, before I eventually made my way around to the far side, having essentially done a wide arc.
The further I walked, the busier the sidewalk became, and gradually I reached the tourist centre of Fisherman’s Wharf. I took a short walk out through the arcade-style shops and cafés before cutting through to the most important part of the wharf: the sea lions. It was incredibly busy, but I managed to fight my way to the edge of the railing to get a few pictures of the incredibly loud sea lions, as well as the view back towards the city.
While this is not a place I wanted to spend an enormous amount of time, I felt like I couldn’t miss it, and I am glad I forced myself to brave the crowds. And it was only another ten minutes or so to the real goal of this walk, one of the only places I remembered clearly from my last trip to San Francisco about 30 years ago – Ghirardelli Square.
Sure enough, the sign was very clear from a distance, sitting high up above the red brick industrial buildings so typical of the 19th century. I approached from below, and paused to watch for a minute or two as tourists walked up the rainbow-painted steps to enter the square proper.
I’m not really sure what I expected, but the area was a touch underwhelming, so I made a quick stop at the chocolate shop to pick up some gifts before finding a bus to take me back towards the centre of the city. The whole walk was about 2.5 miles, so I felt like I had earned my dinner.
The following day was my day off, so I arranged to visit Muir Woods, the redwood forest just north of the city, and the other clear memory from the 1990s. I will have to write a separate post about that trip as it was absolutely breath-taking – I definitely recommend making the effort to visit if you are in the area. And, as I learned, you can get a shuttle from the Sausalito area, meaning that you do not have to brave the winding roads yourself.
I tried to get a good picture of the Golden Gate Bridge on my way back, but as it was a beautiful Saturday, all of the parking lots were completely packed. So, I managed only a short stop along Baker Beach to enjoy the coastline. It’s quite stunning here, stark and mostly treeless with hills dropping right into the ocean in a way that reminded me a touch of Scotland.
A wrong turn meant that I was also able to make a quick stop for another view back towards the city, which is stunning in its varying height and skyline. The stop allowed me to turn around, and head (finally) in the right direction after fully confusing my Google maps route.
On Sunday, I attended an event that meant I had one last chance to enjoy the weird and wonderful architecture that San Francisco is known for. (Back when we visited in the 90s, I was planning to be an architect, how times have changed, and I dragged my mother all over the city in search of the areas I wanted to see).
Specifically, I walked up Fulton Street from the University of San Francisco to Alamo Square, which is a lovely park at the peak of a hill with amazing views over the city centre. This was also the location, I knew, of the houses filmed at the start of the credits for Full House, the San Francisco-based TV show I had grown up watching. I could not resist taking a quick look. Fellow Millennials will recognise it, I am sure…
Fog was still sitting over the taller city buildings as I walked through the park, and it struck me as just such a typical San Francisco view. Fulton Street was fascinating, as so many homes have intricate carvings on their fronts and around the windows, and I found myself taking pictures of many of them.
The Bay Area – beyond San Francisco
There is plenty more to the Bay Area than just the city itself, of course, and on one of my last nights, I attended an event in Lafayette, which is closer to Berkeley but inland. As usual I was early, and so I pulled in at a local park, where I took a short walk up a hill. A steep, short walk. The mountains here reminded me more of what I saw in Southern California, though there was far more residential spread here.
Not home time yet!
It had been a busy 10 days or so in the Bay Area with more than 700 miles under my belt, but my trip wasn’t quite over. Instead, I was attending a conference in Columbus, Ohio, a city of which I really had no idea what to expect. It turned out to be a really pleasant mid-west city, clean and central with plenty of good restaurants and bars in close proximity to the convention centre. Parks and the residential neighbourhood where we stayed in an Air B&B were easy to walk to, and I can see why it would be a good spot for a large convention.
We also discovered, close by, the North Market, a large industrial space that has been turned into an indoor food market slightly reminiscent of Quincy Market in Boston. However, it was far less expensive and not as busy, meaning that you could take your time in deciding on pasta, salad, Asian food, and bakery items (plus a lot more I am sure that I didn’t see).
Like in Boston, this market offers seats on the upper level, meaning that you can enjoy your meal while looking down at the patrons and shops, which I really enjoyed. Absolutely worth investigating if you are ever in Columbus! As I said, I really didn’t have any expectation of the city but the residential areas reminded me a touch of parts of South Bend, while downtown could have been almost any small city in the US. Pleasantly every-city, very mid-west and just generally a nice place.
Coming home, but not quite…a long layover in Boston
My trip home from Columbus included a long layover in Boston, which I had intended as an opportunity hopefully to see my mum. For various reasons this did not come to pass, but I enjoyed my flight in on a beautiful clear morning, and because I had more than enough time, I took the elevator to the top of the airport parking structure to take in the view of the city. It was emotionally hard to be so close and not have a chance to explore or visit home, but it still felt good to be in Boston, even briefly. The international terminal was nice and quiet during the day, so I was able to get some work done and enjoy some peace after three days of conference busy-ness.
Coming home, but really this time.
My flight from Boston to Edinburgh was delightfully quiet, or at least it was at the back of the plane where I was sitting – I in fact managed two seats to myself, which were unfortunately just a touch too small to allow me to properly spread out and sleep. I find the night flights hard anyway, as we landed in Edinburgh around the time I would be looking to go to sleep, so could not make myself doze off before. I tried, but no luck – instead I watched a few old movies and was awake to realise, about 30 minutes out, that we were flying towards the rising sun. For the third time, I had a fantastic view from the window seat as the plane approached Edinburgh from the west, passing the city of Stirling (it’s impossible not to recognise that dramatic bend in the river), then Loch Leven (the castle is just a bit too small to see), and finally the coastline of Fife.
It was a very pleasant welcome home!
I’ll leave you with two last images of San Francisco, one the panoramic view taken from the Presidio park, and the other this view of the Waymo taxis that were quite frequent. No, I did not take one, though for a Scotland-based girl, even the multiple Uber Teslas were an adventure of their own.
Overall a very busy month, and a time to explore two parts of the US I had never seen, or not as an adult. I felt I only scratched the very surface of San Fransisco but I know I am likely to be back; it is a quirky, funky city that is like few others. It tumbles over hills that in snow-based climates could not be built on in the same way, and offers a different fascinating view every time you turn a corner or cross a street. I look forward to my next visit!
As for October, it will be another busy month, and I imagine it will be one for the record books in terms of miles driven, but I am excited to see where more new cities will take me. I’ll be sure to keep you updated, when I can find some spare moments…
As I have written about before about my affection for the area around Aberfeldy and Kenmore, and so it will come as no surprise that, during an unexpected long weekend, we decided to book two nights at Moness Resort just above Aberfeldy. We didn’t plan much, but discovered the Dùn Hill walk as an option that looked ideal for our purposes – not too long, and in walking distance from our accommodation. Though the weather was a bit disappointing – overcast for the whole day – it was not actually wet, and so after a full Scottish breakfast (well almost full, I skipped the black pudding, but still a requirement when eating breakfast away from home), we headed out.
For those familiar with Aberfeldy, the Dùn Hill is above the Birks walk, and starts by heading up a farm track between some trees and a field full of sheep. ‘Up’ is a good word to use, as ‘up’ was very much the theme of the walk; while not particularly long – 3 miles round trip – this path is a pretty constant uphill, and at times quite steep. We had not intended on vigorous exercise (as the other half reminded me several times), but we pushed on in any case.
As with many walks we do in Scotland, we were using a page from Walkhighlands to guide us on the way, and while I generally find their route maps to be very useful, the instructions are on occasion a bit vague. Fortunately, there is really only one option for this walk.
The road climbs steadily and winds around to the right in time, offering what appears to be a choice to be made between a higher and lower road. In fact, the low road is a private drive, leading to an impressive large house and outbuildings.
Passing this fork, the trail opens up so that the views over the fields and hills are visible – at least climbing quickly means the vistas are also fast to appear! Unfortunately our view was marred slightly by the weather, meaning that pictures do not tend to show the glory of the area.
Perhaps five minutes beyond the fork, walkers tired of a dirt road and having to look out for the infrequent traffic will be delighted to notice a sign pointing up the hill. This is roughly the half-way point of the walk.
From here, the path becomes a bit more typical for mountain walking – alternately rocky, grassy, and climbing through fields and trees. In relatively little time, the shape of an abandoned white cottage appears, nestled amongst some trees and with a walled yard. Almost covered by the foliage, this house reminded me a touch of something Bob Ross would paint – an abandoned spot in the woods, mostly overgrown (see below). But with a great view over the town.
This was where we got a bit lost, as while our instructions said ‘go through a forest gate’, we could not immediately see the way to the gate. So, we thought perhaps it was a bit further along the meadow, and that is the way we headed.
It was uneven, with deep grass and rough to walk on, no markings or discernible gates in the distance. After a few minutes of trudging along, we realised that there was a dog walker behind us who could only have come through the gate we had seen. Clearly, we had gone the wrong way. While the view from the meadow was pleasant, it was not going to take us where we wanted to go.
So, we retraced our steps and discovered, mostly covered by high weeds, a sign pointing towards the gate. The faintest remnants of a trail was evident, and so we bivouacked towards the gate, passed through and discovered a narrow forest path – clearly the correct way.
The forest path was pleasant, winding through pines and larch (I think?), and the dry summer plaguing Scotland was a touch less evident here. Yes, it has been a very dry summer – Fife is at near drought conditions as is a large portion of the UK. The gorgeous weather I have experienced while hiking the Fife Coastal Path was unfortunately not good for the overall health of the countryside. Rain is very much in need! Despite all stereotypes of Scotland…
This is the kind of hiking trail I love the most – well-kept and easy to follow, winding through forests that smell like the pine I used to play under when I was young. Occasionally there would be a break in the trees where a hillside meadow met the tree line, but we saw no one else and very little sign of civilisation for most of the remainder of the climb.
Then, suddenly, there were signs that up ahead the trees were thinning, and we reached the clearing at the top of the hill – wide open, grassy, with large patches of beautiful purple heather.
While it is not really visible to untrained eyes like ours, this clearing is the remnant of an Iron Age hill fort, the Dùn. Scientific equipment and archaeologists can identify the rings and gaps where entrances may have been, but for us it was just a lovely peaceful clearing where we could sit for a while, have a snack and some water, and enjoy the quiet. Well, quiet except for a sheep in a nearby field that was baa-ing with a gusto.
The views were unfortunately marred by the low cloud that made the distance hazy, but there was enough of a vista to make one imagine how impressive it could be on a clear, sunny day.
And of course, there is a rock cairn marking the top of the hill; I realise how fortunate we were to be hiking at a time when the heather was in bloom, as it really did add some spectacular colour to an otherwise mostly grey and green landscape. I could have sat quite happily for hours watching the bees, enjoying the many different shades of purple from a soft lavender to bright almost fluorescent magenta – I also found myself humming ‘Heather on the Hill’ from Brigadoon, and had it stuck in my head for hours after.
However, despite a hearty breakfast and a few hiking snacks, we hadn’t really provisioned ourselves for a long time away, and so we eventually headed back to the break in the trees and began the meander back down towards Aberfeldy. We have reached that age – as I am sure I have mentioned – where down can be harder than up, and this was definitely the case once we left the forest path and re-joined the road. Small pebbles and stones combined with dust made for a slippery descent, and almost as slow as the climb. But, we did enjoy the views a bit more heading down and I can see how this could be even more lovely with autumn colours.
While not a particularly long walk, like its sister walk at the Birks of Aberfeldy, the Dùn hill is unexpectedly steep and requires a bit more stamina than originally expected. One review of the walk did mention this, though one we did not read until later; as the other half pointed out, it is worth observing how far a walk ascends in height to make sure you are prepared for the climb. We weren’t, but we made up for it with an excellent dinner that evening at a relatively new place in Aberfeldy, the Inti lounge. Fortunately, we had reserved a table as it was packed by 6.30pm – food and drink all fantastic! In particular, the best whisky peppercorn sauce we had ever had (and this from the other half who is serious about his peppercorn sauce) and a delicious play on a traditional cocktail, the Highland Iced Tea, made with whisky and Irn Bru.
I would definitely be up for trying this walk again in better weather, but also forewarned about the climb. There are plenty of walks up mountains and hills in the area that are not quite so steep, and take a longer trail up that allow for a bit of flat along with the up. Nonetheless, this is a lovely peaceful walk in the woods and an equally serene, history-filled clearing at the top – and perfect if you are staying in Aberfeldy and do not want to drive!
Whew, this was a long one. I knew it would be, and I was excited to give it a go, but I think I mis-calculated the mileage. Nonetheless, I managed, and it was a good challenge for me as well as a nice stretch of the coast.
The morning started with some overcast and the hopeful promise of blue sky by the middle of the day.
My starting point was Aberdour, famous for its castle which I have visited in the past, but chose not to stop on this occasion due to the clouds. It is definitely on the list for a re-visit soon.
Aberdour is best reached by train, from the north requiring a short stop in Kirkcaldy on the way; I boarded in Leuchars and it was an easy, quiet trip. The station in Aberdour is beautiful – Victorian, with decorative metal scroll work and beds of flowers in and around the building.
From the station I headed through the car park to the main road, where there was a short half block before a turn down Shore Road. I counted the start of my walk from this intersection, where I officially re-joined the path.
Shore Road runs down towards the water, passing some shops, a park, and large well-appointed houses with rocky gardens. In little time, it is clear you are descending a hill, and at the waterfront where there is a seating area and a beach off the the right. To the left is the harbour, and ahead of you in the Firth of Forth is just visible the outline of Inchcolm Abbey. Once the sun came out, I was able to get a good shot of the island.
From here, the path leads towards the harbour, and just as the road turns into wharf, there is a sign directing walkers to the left. The harbour is small but with plenty of sailing vessels – less fishing, more pleasure boating here it seems – and sheltered by a headland. As the path loops around the harbour it crosses a burn that has cut through two sloping fields. I knew that at the top of the hill was the castle, but it hidden from view.
Beyond the harbour, the path climbs a bit as it continues around the coast, with occasional breaks in the trees for views back towards the village or out to Inchcolm.
It was an odd weather day, not sunny but nonetheless quite warm and a bit sticky. My cardigan, needed for the train and early part of my trip, did not last long.
After perhaps five minutes, some houses appear through the trees, but be aware that the Coastal Path does not follow the road here, instead taking a sharp left up some stone steps.
As the trail winds through the trees there are a few small footpaths leading off into the distance, but if you maintain your course relatively straight, you will eventually reach a hilltop meadow.
It was just about at my arrival at the hilltop that the sun began to win its battle with the clouds, peeking through a few gaps, though clouds over Edinburgh and south still looked threatening. I was also delighted to discover what seemed to be a set of small standing stones, and a gate that led to the top of the cliffs that overlook Aberdour. The edge is sharp and not fenced at all, so there are plenty of warning signs – it is a dramatic spot looking over the water, along the coast, and to the distant Forth bridges. I learned later that this is Hawkcraig Point, once home to a Royal Naval Submarine research base, though there is very little remaining except for a lighthouse.
Once I had taken my fill of the view, I headed down the hill towards the narrow road which must have been constructed to reach the point. At the time it was being used by some very keen fishermen.
The road passes through a large parking area designated for caravans (unlike many car parks), which was incredibly busy. More than a few dogs were sitting outside in front of their temporary homes, watching me closely as I passed, and occasionally looking up at the regular outgoing planes from Edinburgh airport – clearly we were on the flight path that day.
Soon I reached Silver Sands beach, which was already growing busy. Like many beach areas in Fife, it is well-kept with a good car park, some playground equipment, and a cafe that had not quite opened yet, much to my disappointment. I could have done with another coffee.
At the far end of the beach, the path disappears into the woodland with a well-kept trail that is either paved or packed dirt and close to the edge of the water. Below you is a rocky shoreline with sea birds, and I paused for a short while to watch a pair of cormorants (or that’s what they looked like anyway) doing some breakfast fishing.
Inchcolm Abbey in the Firth of Forth
In a short time, the left-hand side of the trail becomes a long stone wall, an old estate wall, which follows the path as it rises and falls over some gentle hills. This was a popular stretch with runners, as it was mostly paved, and required a bit less attention to your feet.
About half-way between Aberdour and Burntisland, the route passes under the rail line through a stone tunnel. This is a busy stretch of track with quite regular traffic, and it is a section I have always loved when on the train as the views across the Forth are superb.
Just outside of the edge of Burntisland, the path crosses Starley Burn over a lovely pedestrian bridge. There is a waterfall above which falls about 12 – 15 feet, and the lime-rich water causes a thick coating on the rocks. It’s a nice peaceful spot in a glen, good for a short break should you need one.
Soon after crossing the burn, the path jogs left inland a bit, and narrows between the train on one side, and a stone wall on the other, with fields up to the left. By this time the day had warmed up nicely, with no wind and only a breath of breeze, so the section here was quite warm, away from the water.
Approaching the edge of Burntisland, the route passes a lovely old estate which reminded me of something out of a Jane Austen movie, including a metal gate in the estate wall – Colinswell House, I learned upon searching. Shortly beyond is Burntisland proper, and the path leads along the edge of a very nice neighbourhood of relatively new homes.
There is an option to pass under the track but don’t be tempted, as the route continues straight before beginning to wind through a nice park. It was well-kept with cut grass, oak and silver birch trees, and a small burn down below between the park and the residential area.
About a half-mile beyond the edge of the town, the route passes into an open park with a view of houses and the hill behind. At the edge of the park turn right up the hill on Kirkton Road. Descending the other side takes you past a few apartment blocks, though these disappear quickly when at the bottom you turn left on to the High Street (not East Broomfield Road, which you reach first). Follow the High Street, which is lined with shops and pubs, quite pleasantly not too many chains but instead local places that seemed quite popular – particularly the butcher and the bakery.
Just before the High Street runs into the Links there is a Co-op food store, a great place to grab a drink or snack if you need it. Across the road at the edge of the Links is also a public toilet – not the fanciest toilet in the world, but it was the first one I had passed that was open. Beyond, I could see the large trucks and brightly-coloured tents and rides of the Burntisland Fair, which takes place over the summer. I caught a few glimpses as I followed the edge of the grass up Links Place and then turned left along Lammerlaws Rd. There is an odd mix here of quite old pubs and buildings that show the age of the town, and much newer additions as well as the bright colours of the fair.
Lammerlaws Road becomes a bridge over the train track, and some walkers taller than I may be able to see over the wall – I tried with my phone but had no luck. Continue straight until you reach the water’s edge, where you can see the busy beach and promenade to the left.
Burntisland promenade is narrower but no less busy than some others, with plenty of families and dog-walkers enjoying the sunny day on what was one of the last weekends before school. The beach was popular and there were life guards on duty, with large flags indicating where it was safe to swim. Just beyond their hut, the Coastal Path splits into two options: the high tide and low tide routes. It was about mid-tide, but upon looking at the low tide option, I decided I was not feeling up to proper long-term rock scrambling. So, I followed the road to the left, through another tunnel, and turned right along the A921.
This was a pleasant stretch of road lined with bungalows and cottages with well-kept gardens, and eventually runs past the town cemetery. Opposite the far end of the cemetery wall, there is another tunnel under the rails, and I chose this as my moment to re-join the beach. It was a steep slope down to the rocks, but beyond was lovely and sandy, with a relatively straightforward route that is solid and easy to walk on.
the low tide route
If I had stayed on the road a tad longer I would have passed the Alexander III memorial which would have been nice to see, but I did not realize it would be inaccessible from the beach.
The beach here is incredibly wide at low tide, with flats stretching far out into the Firth that I can only imagine are muddy and a touch treacherous. On a clearer day, the views across to Edinburgh and Leith would be excellent, and even on a hazy day they were impressive.
Another half mile or so beyond where I re-joined the beach, the dunes bulge out towards the beach, and the option is either to follow the sand or cut up to the grass. I opted for this, following the at times quite faint path through long grass, ferns, and various other flora. I’m not sure this was the most sensible option, but being slightly higher than the beach allowed some views back towards the three bridges – just peeking out over the headland – and a better feel for what you usually see from the train.
There was some near-bivouacking for a while, but eventually the trail re-joined the beach, with the road high above. As I approached Pettycur I could see a caravan park on the hill, and a steep flight of stairs leading up from the beach. This definitely was not what I wanted to see after a solid 5 miles or more of walking, and so I found a perfect rock ledge on which to take a proper break and enjoy my packed lunch. Which was, incidentally, inclusive of the all-American favourite, peanut butter and jelly (raspberry jelly, which in my opinion is the best).
God’s food, I will hear no objections.
It was salty, a touch sweet, and absolutely perfect.
This is one of my favourite pictures from this walk. Peaceful beach.
As I enjoyed my flash-back to the USA, I pulled out my up-to-date map of the coastal path to determine whether I had to climb the hill or not. After deciding that I could just as easily follow the beach, I made myself sit for 10 minutes enjoying the view before packing up again.
The route I chose definitely included a touch of rock-climbing as a tidal pool cut off the sandy option; fortunately, the rocks were not slippery but heavily encrusted with barnacles, which were great for grip. They would be torture should you fall, but I managed to avoid both a slip and wet feet. This was the case even once I had crossed the rocks and negotiated my way across the sand, which was rippled and wet but not enough to reach over my boot treads.
At this point I was in Pettycur bay, which included a small harbour where the boats were all beached due to low tide. I climbed the stairs at the edge of the harbour to re-join the road, which would have been the high tide option I think. My break and snack hadn’t really done much to reinvigorate me, and I found myself slowing down as I headed up the long slow hill of Pettycur Road that runs from the beach up to the top of the cliffs. The houses here reminded me quite a bit of parts of Marblehead – lovely, large modern places built on stilts or into the edge of the cliff, open to the Firth of Forth and ocean beyond. For those familiar, it was a touch like part of Marblehead Neck, right at the far end from the causeway, though these houses were smaller.
I had pretty much determined that when I reached the top of the hill, I was going to need another rest – I had been reluctant to look at the map to work out how close I was to Kinghorn. What rather gave it away was when I noticed road names that were Alexander III Street, and then David I Street – there is also a Canmore St and Queen Margaret St, showing the strong historical tie of the area to the Medieval Scottish crown. Suddenly, I realised, I was essentially in Kinghorn.
The sign for the Coastal Path turns right down a close, with the sea ahead, and at the end a set of benches. The view is, like so many others, spectacular – the ocean stretches out ahead, with the clifftop homes to your right and the town of Kinghorn with its train viaduct to the left. I paused for a few minutes to savour the triumph, though in doing so I missed that hour’s train. So, I took a gradual walk down towards the water before finding the spot at the bottom of the hill where I had marked the start of my journey from Kinghorn to Kirkcaldy.
I may have missed a few of the historical sites along the way that I hoped to see, but this walk really tested the limits of my fitness and I got to see parts of Fife I had only ever passed through.
It was a good final walk for the summer, I felt, leaving me in a strong place for when I come back from travels long enough to pick things up again. I’m looking forward to trying to stay fit while travelling – hotel gyms are uninspiring – but it’s a good goal to have, and I was really pleased when this hike didn’t completely destroy me. Was I a bit stiff that night? Yes. But it faded by morning.
The Wandering Medievalist 